


the power of love

by jehans



Series: it's for you [30]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:14:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehans/pseuds/jehans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire actually bites his bottom lip as he grins and nods. “You need to heal my cut through the power of love.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	the power of love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [truethingsproved](https://archiveofourown.org/users/truethingsproved/gifts), [mybelovedcheshire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mybelovedcheshire/gifts).



> For Ani, who basically gave me the entire plot and Chesh because cuddles. <3
> 
> Not entirely sure where it’s set in the timeline but it’s sometime after 'twenty-four hours'. Basically nothing but cuddling whoops.

“God _fucking damnit!_ ”

Enjolras looks up in surprise from his laptop and stares at his bedroom door until Grantaire bursts out of it, holding up one hand indignantly with the other.

“What’s wrong?” Enjolras asks him, mildly alarmed. Grantaire has (supposedly, anyway) been actually helping for once, stuffing envelopes with pamphlets (even though he’d whined a lot about how _no one reads pamphlets anymore, Enjolras, this is a waste of paper_ ).

“Your stupid pamphlets gave me a fucking paper cut,” Grantaire says accusingly.

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “Oh,” he says with some measure of relief.

Grantaire look outraged. “I am bleeding!” he shouts.

“I have neighbors,” Enjolras reminds him.

“Oh you remember that when I’m _bleeding_ , but not when I’ve got you bent over the kitchen table,” Grantaire grumbles.

“Which we are still keeping quiet,” Enjolras says firmly, “Courfeyrac does not need to find out about that.”

“Oh please,” Grantaire replies, rolling his eyes in turn. “If you don’t think Courfeyrac has fucked Jehan on that table, you are deluding yourself.”

Enjolras glances down at the table like he’s just realized maybe he should stop eating at it.

“I’m fucking _bleeding!_ ” Grantaire repeats and Enjolras huffs a sigh and heaves himself off his chair, taking Grantaire’s wrist as he passes him and dragging him into the bathroom.

Grantaire softens a little as Enjolras holds his hand under the running water with one hand while digging for a bandage in the medicine cabinet with the other. He even leans forward and steals a kiss when Enjolras turns his face back to him (which ought to have been a sweet peck on the lips but ends up involving their tongues).

It’s Enjolras who pulls away, of course, but it’s not without a surprising amount of tenderness that he lifts Grantaire’s hand out from under the water, dries his finger with a towel, then applies antibiotic cream and a bandage.

Smirking, Grantaire lifts the bandaged finger to Enjolras’ face. “Kiss it better,” he demands.

Enjolras glares at him.

“Come on,” Grantaire coaxes impatiently.

“I am not kissing your finger,” Enjolras tells him in a deadpan.

“No, you’re right,” Grantaire agrees, lowering his finger. “That won’t make it better.”

Enjolras nods in agreement. This is sensible.

“But you know what would?” Grantaire asks, grinning.

Enjolras doesn’t answer, he just glowers apprehensively. This, surely, will not be sensible.

Grantaire presses on anyway. “Cuddles,” he says innocently.

“Cuddles?” Enjolras replies dryly.

Grantaire actually bites his bottom lip as he grins and nods. “You need to heal my cut through the power of love.”

“Oh my god,” Enjolras sighs, and Grantaire thinks his eyes might actually roll out of his head as he pushes past him and out of the bathroom.

But he doesn’t get far because Grantaire follows him and grabs him, holding him right outside his bedroom. “It’s your fault I got cut in the first place,” he says in a singsong voice, his lips right up against Enjolras’ ear, which, despite the words being hissed in his ear, makes him shiver a little.

“How is it _my_ fault?” he asks in as level a voice as he can manage.

“Your pamphlets, your fault.”

“The _power of love_ is not going to heal your paper cut,” Enjolras protests.

“Not if you don’t _believe_ ,” Grantaire chides him.

Enjolras turns in his arms until they’re flush against each other and nose to nose. “And who are you,” he asks slowly, but there’s a tug at the corners of his mouth, “to lecture me on believing?”

“Does that mean you’ll cuddle me?” Grantaire growls deep in his throat.

Enjolras sighs. And he wants to say _No, because you’re making up this power-of-love shit and I have work to do_ , but somehow he finds himself not resisting as he’s pulled into his bedroom and his bed; as his arms wrap around Grantaire and one of his hands finds its way into soft, dark curls he secretly just adores; as Grantaire’s nose presses against his collarbone and their legs tangle around each other and Grantaire’s arms snake around his waist.

“See?” Grantaire murmurs against his skin. “I feel better already.”

“That’s because the antibiotic has pain reliever in it,” Enjolras remarks but Grantaire shushes him.

“ _Believe in the power of love_ ,” he breathes insistently and when Enjolras glances down, he sees a smug smile and closed eyes.

“Are you going to sleep?” he asks. Grantaire grins up at him.

“No,” he says. “I’m just breathing you in.”

“You’re smelling me?” Enjolras says, frowning.

Grantaire actually giggles. “You smell nice,” he says simply. Then, on Enjolras’ slightly disturbed scowl, he adds, “I just love you. I like stopping and. . .breathing that in sometimes.”

Almost reluctantly, Enjolras smiles. His fingers skate through those lovely curls and his lips find Grantaire’s forehead. “I love you, too,” he breathes, so quietly he wonders if Grantaire can even hear him.

But of course he does. His hands constrict around the folds of the back of Enjolras’ shirt and he tightens his arms, pressing tender kisses into Enjolras’ collarbone. “I know,” he whispers finally.

Enjolras does smile at that and his lips find skin again. “Good.”

They didn’t shut the bedroom door, so they both hear when the front door opens and voices lilt through the apartment.

“That’ll be Courfeyrac,” Enjolras sighs, making to pull away, but Grantaire just holds him tighter.

“Sounds like Jehan is with him,” he mutters, “he’ll be fine. I’m not healed yet.”

Enjolras huffs, but he really doesn’t put up much of a fight as Grantaire settles further into him.

A few seconds later, Jehan’s head pops into the bedroom. “Hi, boys,” he says cheerily. “Sorry, am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” Grantaire replies before Enjolras can, squeezing him even tighter (and Enjolras starts to wonder if he’s going to lose function in some of his internal organs). “I got a paper cut.”

“Oh,” Jehan says like that explains everything — and with him and Courfeyrac, that probably is plenty of reason for the two of them to drop everything and start cuddling on the spot. He tilts his head and smiles. “You look comfy.”

Even Enjolras smiles at him at that.

Courfeyrac appears behind Jehan, wrapping his arms around Jehan’s waist and enthusiastically kissing his temple. And then he sees Enjolras and Grantaire.

“Cuddle pile?” he gasps, and then launches both himself and Jehan into the room.

Somehow, Jehan ends up curled up next to Grantaire, who shifts to make room for him so he’s got one arm around the little poet and one still possessively around Enjolras. Courfeyrac drapes himself across everybody, his head nestled on Jehan’s stomach, body swathed over Grantaire, and legs hooked around Enjolras.

Enjolras really wants to be annoyed by this, especially since he has _work to do_ — but Grantaire’s face is pressed so happily into his neck again, and Courfeyrac keeps telling everyone how much he loves them, and Jehan’s hand reaches out and finds one of Enjolras’, and he just can’t.

He loves these stupid little rascals more than anything, and it’s kind of nice to know, every now and again, that they love him, too.


End file.
